Shout to Pretend
by Kaslyna
Summary: Post Entrada and Post Marionette. The continued story of Alt-Livia, Peter, and Olivia; how they heal and move on. M for a reason. Lincoln/Alt-Livia, Peter/Olivia. Please read and review, you know you want to! :D First Fringe fic. :P
1. Shout to Pretend

**A/N: Honestly, I just don't know anymore. :/ Boredom, depression, and insanity created this, thank you very much. Spoilers for all of Fringe. :P Slightly OOC and AU at times; sorry. D: First Fringe story, so please try to be kind! ^^**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"Where is she? Where's Olivia? Tell me how we get her back," Peter is pleading now, and though she should, she can't lie to him. She just can't.

"I don't know. That wasn't part of my assignment," taking a deep breath she tells him what she has known now for far too long, "Listen, whatever happens to me, I want you to know that this started out as an assignment, but it became..."

"...something more," he finishes softly, leaning in with his hand on her cheek, "That would be so much easier to believe if you weren't in handcuffs right now."

It shouldn't bother her, that he doesn't believe her, but damn, it does. It shakes her, rocks her to her very core, and knows that this is irrational, insane, illogical; and yet, she can't help it, she can't help that it has become more than it ever should have. Things have gotten out of hand. She tries to be happy, thinking about being back with Frank, but it severely depresses her instead. All she wants is him now; yet she doesn't know him, not really, and he'll never love her the way she loves him.

It is later, when Olivia is settling down in her own bed for the first time in two months, that the reality of what happened finally sets in. Frank's gone on business, and for the first time, she cries over a guy. Not just about him, but for him, too, and for what she'd done. It had never bothered Olivia before, using her body to gain access to what she wanted. But it did now, and it hurt like hell.

She remembers all too clearly the look of calm, stubborn betrayal and anger in his eyes, those eyes that shone like the sea; the way he tottered on the edge, remaining poised and calm while on the inside he was screaming, the waves of hatred rolling off of him, into the very fabric of her being. She hated to be the one who caused him such immense pain and turmoil.

Olivia sighs, clenching and unclenching her fists; and from her eyes a saltwater river is poured; from her lips, a vicious, animalistic howl of anguish and loss that she'd heard and seen but never felt, never experienced, is pulled, deep from her battered soul. Within her she's screaming; on the outside, she thrashes violently, wanting nothing more than to stop the pain in her heart, the dull ache of pain as she sees those eyes, that look of betrayal in them.

The sobbing eventually subsides, and it is replaced instead by the sound of the drizzle on the window. It's the most forlorn, most mournful thing that Olivia's ever heard, in all her thirty-two years.

POALPOAL

He leaves her when she's asleep, murmuring a promise to her that he'll be back. Peter gratefully acknowledges Astrid, who is here to take over his position as Olivia's sentinel. He staggers to the elevator, makes his way to a nearby bar. A football game is on mute, and Peter sits at the bar, orders a shot of whiskey, Olivia's favorite, neat. He downs it, orders another, and another, until he's consumed maybe three or four and the sun's beginning to peek over the horizon. Sighing, he slaps down two twenties for his bill, smiles wearily, and leaves for the hospital.

Peter shivers as he steps outside, into the biting autumn chill, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. He absently kicks at leaves as he walks, head down, to the hospital, thoughts on the other her. The impostor, the Other Olivia.

What hurts is he can understand. Her world-his world-was dying, in crisis, and they were desperate. But there had to be another way... didn't there? His father was ruthless, cunning, sharp and smart, analytical, cynical. Powerful. He didn't believe in peace, in another way. He believed in a war, and maybe it existed, but there had to be another way. There always was, wasn't there?

Astrid leaves when Peter comes in, swaying dejectedly, lost in deep thought. He sits beside Olivia, his Olivia, strokes her face tenderly, pushes a stray lock of the fading red hair behind her ear. Peter smiles softly, sits, and sighs. He prays she can forgive him.

Deep in his heart, he knows he'll need to regain Olivia's trust after this whole ordeal. But it would be worth it, he knew, because in the end, the pain and sacrifice... they'd all be for them, for their dying worlds, and for love, something unimaginable after all he's seen in the past two years or so he's spent working for Fringe Division.

He realizes now, he never told her, the Other Olivia. That he loved her. Because somewhere deep in his heart, he knew she wasn't his Olivia. She wasn't her.

She never would be.

POALPOAL

She'll never forget the calm, collected way he told her, the way that infuriated her to no end. Wasn't he going to plead for forgiveness? Wasn't he going to sing her praises, call himself out on his flaws? Wasn't he going to apologize profusely, swear it meant nothing?

It's the calm before the storm. That same storm comes later, sitting in an organ thief's garden, where she pours out the betrayal and the anger to him, wanting so much for him to hurt like she's hurting right now.

Little does she know, he already is.

POALPOAL

She tells him, tells him about her clothes, her apartment, her job, and because she wants so badly to make sense of the pain, to inflict it on another, she tells him about him. She doesn't want to be with him. When it's said, it's eerily quiet for a second, and Olivia feels nauseous, exhausted, and most of all, guilty.

"She's taken everything," she tells him, standing, on the verge of hysteria. She has to get out of here, has to make sure he doesn't see the tears of hurt pooling in her muddy green eyes. Olivia walks away.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," his voice is faint, she's almost at her car, and she squeezes her eyes shut to hold in the tears, for now, at least, so that she may be alone with her pain.

Sitting in the car, she places her face to the steering wheel and gives in. She screams, a ghastly howl, followed by heart-wrenching sobs. She'd sworn after John she'd never do this to herself again. Swore she'd never love anyone ever again, because what good would that do to her? Or for her, for that matter? And yet, Peter had shaken her... she loved him, so much it hurt, far more than she'd ever loved John.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she starts the car, knowing full well where she needs to go, what she needs to do right now.

POALPOAL

It's begun to rain, a bitterly cold rain you only get in October and November. It's a hazy mist that fills the air, and it's oddly refreshing to Olivia as she slowly makes her way to the tombstone, hands in her pockets. She crouches in front of it, knowing that John is now safely buried here. She traces the words on his headstone: _John Scott, 1976-2008, you will be missed._

"Hey," her voice is soft and timid; she hasn't been here since right before she'd left two months ago to get Peter back.

There's silence, just the falling rain, and Olivia feels instantly foolish; nonetheless, she continues, "Well, I know I haven't visited in a while. I'm sorry. So much... so much has happened, John. God. I can't even begin to explain this to you... but you're the only one I could go to after all I've been through. You were the only one who knew..."

She takes another deep, shaky breath, then exhales and to fill the void, speaks, "I guess I don't think of you so much anymore. But, I know you'd want me to move on... right? Wouldn't you, John? I did move on, and I'm so sorry... but, anyways... after you, I swore I'd never love again, that I couldn't. It would hurt me too much. Yet I did, and look where I am now... talking to gravestone in the rain. It's been over two years, John. Even still..."

She was crying now, choking on words, "I miss you. I guess a part of me still doesn't want to move on. I guess a part of me will always love you, and I guess I'm grateful for that, because you're a part of me, of my history. And maybe this is confusing and weird to you, me saying this, but if I could explain what has happened to me, you'd understand. I just know you would, John."

She leans against the headstone, closes her eyes, murmurs softly, "It was Peter, John. I fell in love with Peter."

The only response in the silent graveyard is the howling wind and the sheets of rain as Olivia brings her knees to her chest, sitting against John's tombstone and talking in a hushed voice to him, a one-sided conversation that makes her feel so lonely and so lost. But it helps, it does, and when she finally leaves, at around midnight, soaked and tired and cold, she feels a little freer. Biting her lower lip to hide a small smile, Olivia drives off to her apartment, for hopefully a little rest on her couch before she'll inevitably be called back to work.

POALPOAL

Peter hadn't gone home after the malt shop. He hadn't really wanted to. He just felt like driving, until the pain was dull and numb within him. Peter has stopped at a small diner in a tiny town somewhere east of Hartford, Connecticut. It's just past midnight and he knows he'll be back before morning, because no matter what, he cannot stay fully away from Olivia.

The waitress is shooting him curious glances, he knows. Maybe in a past life, where he was a true nomad, he would've flirted, gotten her number. But now the urge to drive has subsided slightly, and all he wants to do is sleep. He's so tired.

Peter is beating himself up inside. It's bittersweet, ironic. The conman getting conned. And yet, he knows he should've tested her beforehand, before everything between them occurred. He should have made sure she was his Olivia, asked her something only his Olivia would ever know, no matter how much information that damn woman had on her, on him, on Walter.

But it's too late now. He didn't test her.

Now he might never get a second chance with Olivia and that kills him inside. Burns him from the inside out.

POALPOAL

"Class one breach," announces Lincoln as Olivia comes in that day, "Gear up!"

Olivia can't help shooting him a small, flirtatious smirk. Something she hasn't done in a while. But she's hurting, really hurting, and maybe a temporary distraction will help her out. Besides, she knows Lincoln will agree. To anything, really, when it comes to her. She feels a little guilty at the thought of Frank, but then burning anger and jealousy at what he did, what they did, together. So yeah. It'll be fine, if she really wants to.

Snapping her out of her reverie is Charlie's voice, "Liv? You coming or what?"

She nods, gets ready, heads to the van with them. Lincoln is giving her a curious glance, and she grins. From the corner of her eye she sees him, knows he might be thinking along the same lines at her. Hell, even if he isn't, she knows she can change that.

She's Olivia Dunham, after all.

POALPOAL

Olivia is awoken by the shrill ringing of her phone; groaning, she answers it, "Dunham."

"Aunt Liv?"

"Ella," she breathes, "Hey, baby girl. How are you?"

"Okay," she can practically hear Ella's pout.

"How's Chicago? Why are you calling so early?"

"It's good," Ella sighs wistfully, "I couldn't sleep. Mom and Dad were arguing all night."

"Oh," there's a pause, and then, "What about?"

"Well, as you know," Ella informs Olivia, "They've tried reconciling. Mom wants to move us back to Boston. She asked me to call you and see if we could stay with you for a bit. If that's okay, of course."

"Sure, baby girl," Olivia says, "It's fine."

"Thanks, Aunt Liv," Ella says cheerfully, "I'll talk to you later?"

"Sure," Olivia smiles, chuckling a bit, "Bye, baby girl."

"Bye," Ella says, hanging up.

Olivia sighs, settles back on the couch. She scrubs a weary hand over her face, shivers. It's seven; far too late for her to fall asleep again, so she gets up, decides to shower. When she's done, she dresses in slacks, a button-down blouse, a jacket, and then goes to the kitchen, eats Cheerios while the news is on.

She wonders briefly what Peter is doing right now. Is he thinking of her?

POALPOAL

Peter creeps in, feeling like a teenager after a night of partying as he studiously avoids Walter, who is snoring softly in his makeshift bed. He smiles a little, happy to not be caught sneaking around the house. His house, but still. He can't shake the feeling of the world being tipped over. He sighs as he climbs into bed, thoroughly exhausted.

He prays like hell that Olivia can forgive him.

POALPOAL

Olivia calls them into the lab at eight that morning; the ride is filled with awkwardness, and Walter tries desperately to break the silence, to shatter the distance between them. But nonetheless, it doesn't help; it worsens the situation entirely. Eventually Walter gets the hint and shuts up.

It's an odd case, but aren't they all? This one has to do with another shapeshifter. Just what they need. They wrap up at the crime scene, head back to the lab. Now it's just Peter and Olivia in the car, Walter having decided to ride with the body. They both knew that it was because he was fed up with them, and their stubborness.

But maybe he's right, Olivia thinks as they drive, Peter occasionally glancing not-so-subtly over at her to gauge her increasingly irritated mood. Eventually, at the light, she snaps, turning towards him, eyes narrowed, a coldness in them that makes him shudder and fear for his life briefly, before she sighs, turns away, waits for the light to turn green and drives.

"Why are you looking at me?" she finally asks, voice quiet.

He has no real logical reason, so he says nothing; her lips are set firmly, and yet she drives still, glad for the silence and hating it all the same.

POALPOAL

"Hey, Liv?" Olivia turns towards Lincoln's voice, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" her voice is sultry.

"Wanna get drinks with me?" he asks.

She nods, answering smoothly, "That depends. Will Charlie be there?"

He fervently shakes his head, replies truthfully, "Not unless you want him to be."

She grins, nodding approvingly, "Good."

"Then let's go?"

"Sure," she says casually, following after him, silently cheering inside her head at her latest victory.

They go to a bar they frequent often. Lincoln downs two shots and a beer; for Olivia, just a beer. They eat burgers and fries. They watch TV and talk and laugh like two best friends should. Is Lincoln her best friend? Maybe. She honestly doesn't know. Oh well. She's happy, smiling, her hand over his on the tabletop.

"Thanks for inviting me," she tells him sweetly.

"You're welcome," he mumbles, blushing furiously, breathing a little shaky.

She tips her head back and laughs, "So, um... wanna come back to my place? I found some coffee..."

He nods vigorously, agreeing, "Yeah. Sure, Liv."

_Bingo_.

POALPOAL

It's later, sitting on her couch, the little coffee the Secretary had gifted her with for her relatively successful mission on the table. She turns towards Lincoln, and before he knows what's going on her lips brush his, soft and tentative. Her lips are coaxing and warm, and he yearns for her so much; he deepens the kiss, until he suddenly remembers where they are. At her apartment. At _his_ apartment.

"Liv..." his voice is a low, husky whisper, eyes closed, "Don't do this to me, please."

She pouts cutely, whining playfully, "But Lincoln, pleeeeeaaaaseeee..."

He sighs, rolling his eyes, leans in to kiss her again, murmuring against her perfect lips, "This is wrong, you know. On so many levels, Liv."

"I know," she grinned wickedly, "That's what makes it fun."

He groaned, kissing her hard, until they pulled away gasping for breath. Then he leaned in, intent on stealing her breath away once more.

And as Olivia's eyes fluttered close with pleasure, she couldn't complain in the slightest.

POALPOAL

Both panted as they came together and drew apart, over and over. Bodies slick with a fine sheen of sweat, gliding over one another, two people becoming one. Pain, turmoil, trust, betrayal churning within them as they connected over and over again and again, becoming a perfect, solid entity, something beautiful left in the wake of destruction.

She looks up, uncertain and suddenly shy in his presence. In that moment, that very instance, gazing into his brown eyes, darkened to almost black with lust and something undefinable, something she's afraid to understand. His lips touch hers softly, comfortingly, perhaps hesitantly, even; they then proceed to trail down her neck, to her breasts and the valley between them. His lips, a little rough from the dry air, leave a burning ache and a wildfire as they trail down her torso, her arms, and finally back up again. He kisses her, all over her face; finally, with so much passion and desire it's almost painful, his lips seek out hers again.

"Liv..." his voice is small, a whisper floating away on a secret breeze.

"Lincoln," she gasps out, moaning quietly, softly, lightly as she tightens around him, eyes rolling back into her head a little before refocusing on his face, his beautiful, lovely, perfect face.

"God, Liv," he groans, grunting as he thrusts into her again and again.

Her voice is a hoarse cry as she comes again; this time he comes with her, shuddering and whispering her name with his own release. He strokes her face, gently cups her head and looks her straight in the eyes, as if she is a precious wonder, something unexplainable and something lovely. Something surely made of glass, which she very well might be, the way he's looking at her...

His eyes, usually a rich cocoa brown, remind her nothing of Peter's sea eyes, and the mere thought of him makes her sad again. Sensing this, for reasons unknown, of course, Lincoln gently kisses her, rolling off on the other side of the bed, giving her time to think and to collect the many thoughts swimming around. They leave her breathless, dizzy, a strong sense of confinement and she turns, whispers his name. Lincoln tugs her towards him, and looking into his beautiful, luminous eyes, she finds her anchor, her tether to this world, finally.

"Olivia," he murmurs huskily, pleading anxiously for her to talk to him, with him, about what they'd just done.

"Lincoln," she sighs contentedly, eyes closed, snuggling in closer to his chest, "Let's sleep, okay?"

He nods, agreeing easily, "Okay."

POALPOAL

The morning dawns slow and lazy, and Olivia gradually awakens, basking in the selfish glow of having nothing to do, no cares and no worries. The lull of things to do is nice, she thinks to herself, stretching luxuriously, fluttering her eyes open and smiling happily to find herself stretched across Lincoln's bare chest. He's _very_ good looking, especially unguarded like this, in sleep, and she's suddenly struck by an uninvited, unintended wave of emotion. She leans down, presses a soft kiss against his lips, feels him stir beneath her, relishes her power over him.

"Liv?" he asks, groggy, sleepy, and confused. She smirks a little at his disorientation.

"Hey," she says softly, "We've got the day off, remember?"

He nods slowly, realization dawning on him, "Liv... did we...?"

"Well," she laughs, "We're naked in my bed together. What do you think?"

"Jesus, Liv," he groans, scrubs a hand over his face, "I was wasted... I'm sorry."

She chuckles, rolling her eyes and smirking, "Don't be. I had fun. In fact, I think I could be up for another round."

"Liv," he murmurs, gently stilling her roaming hands, "We need to talk about this... about us."

"Sex now," she growls, pushing him down forcefully yet gently, "Talk later. Okay?"

He nods, a little afraid and definitely in awe of her, "O-okay."

"Good boy," she purrs seductively, breasts swinging in front of him, "Fuck me, Lincoln."

"Yes, ma'am," he answers breathlessly, ready to do just that, as many times as she asked him to.

Something this good certainly couldn't be wrong. Could it?

POALPOAL

They say all things come in threes, and for Peter, this was surely true. Today's threes were surprises. Walter was being lucid and not self-medicating. Then the doorbell rang, and when he answered it, to say he was shocked would have been an absolute understatement. The next words out of Olivia's beautiful mouth almost put him into cardiac arrest.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry. It was too much of me to ask. And it's not like I didn't fuck her boyfriend a couple times myself. I was jealous and stupid. I'm sorry. I do want to be with you. But I need to go slow, Peter."

"Liv..."

"I love you," she blurts, and his eyes widened to saucers, "...Peter?"

Hearing the urgency and desperation in her voice, seeing it in her beautiful green eyes, he replies, "Are you sure?"

"You're the only reason I had to live," she admits in a small voice, blushing slightly, "Without you, I might have given up, or worse... given in. But we stopped her, didn't we?"

"Everything I felt... it was all for you, Liv," he tells her, slow and cautious, calculating, even, "Nothing for her. I promise. No, I swear it. I should have tested her earlier..."

"Stop," Olivia growls, "Stop. We've hurt each other enough, Peter, haven't we? You were so calm, I was so furious..."

"It's because it was rational," his voice was a sigh, soft and calm, "You want breakfast?"

"Yes," she nods, "Don't think this changes much, Peter. But we'll heal and move on, take it slow. One step at a time. Okay?"

"Okay," he nods slowly, "Liv?"

"Yes?" she turns.

"...I love you, too. I never told her. I guess deep down I knew."

"It's okay now, Peter. I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he sighs in relief, "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, "No. Don't be. You couldn't have known."

With that he takes her hand, smiling gently, shyly, and leads her to the kitchen, for breakfast, hoping like hell he'll have a future with her.

POALPOAL

The weeks pass by relatively quickly for Olivia. Peter's sea eyes have become no more than a mere figment of her imagination, a wistful, unrequited yearning, a wound in a battered heart that'll heal with time but will never fully go away. She's juggling her blossoming relationship with Lincoln and her long, stable relationship with Frank fairly well. Lincoln knows he's the other man, and while it bothers him, so much, he knows Olivia. She's extremely loyal, and on top of that, he knows she's terrified of them going wrong. So he keeps his relative distance, for now, at least, occasional kisses, looks, and touches here and there; dates scattered about, trying to coax her like a frightened animal.

If anyone had told him before she'd one day be madly, head-over-heels in love with Lincoln Lee, she would have laughed absurdly, thinking them insane.

POALPOAL

For Olivia, it feels like she's soaring. Peter's finally here, with her, and they're trying again. Both have inflicted and taken so much hurt and pain, unbearable and unimaginable cruelties; and yet, they've come so far in healing, with each other and on their own. Olivia waits now at the window, hears Rachel and Ella's peals of laughter in the kitchen as they try to bake brownies, the first snow falling lightly.

She sees and hears his car pulling to a stop, and five minutes later he's at her door, asking, "You ready to go?"

Olivia nods, smiling reassuringly, flushing and nervous, "Yeah, I am."

"Uncle Peter!" Ella exclaims happily, flinging herself at his legs. He chuckles, rustles her hair.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmurs, "What's shaking?"

"Not much," Ella laughs.

"Oh, hey, Peter," Rachel is cool, casual, nods to acknowledge him, "You going, Liv?"

"Yeah," she nods, "Is that alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Rachel grins happily, "Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Olivia tips her head back, laughs and smirks as she replies, "Don't count on it!"

They leave soon after, and they hold hands as they sit in his car, parked outside, and he asks her, "Ready to go?"

She nods, "Yeah. I sure am."

He gently squeezes her hand, reluctantly lets go, sighs and smiles happily. Nine weeks ago, she'd said she never wanted to be with him; and just seven weeks ago, she'd told him she loved him. Peter was insanely happy, madly in love with Olivia Dunham, and taking it slow was fine for the both of them, though the desire, the yearning, the sexual tension, it was all there. Stolen kisses, looks, and touches were all they had for now; nonetheless, it was all he needed. All he'd ever wanted; for Olivia to be with him, to love him like he loved her, too.

He starts the car, and they drive off, for their first official date. To their future, shaky and uncertain, built upon towers of crumbling sand, the pillars weakening because of the dreams of the previous generation before them.


	2. Author's Note: Why I Wrote This

_ As of now, I will not continue Shout to Pretend. However, I might in the future. Even still, this is an author's note and a thank you to my anonymous reviewer. Thank you. I was very nervous about posting Shout to Pretend because it dredges up some memories that I haven't wanted._

_ I guess the point of Shout to Pretend was my way of letting out angst. Not only for Peter, Olivia, and Alt-Olivia. But for me, and for Sloane, wherever the hell she is. I suppose it pissed me off that Peter didn't see. But he had no reason to. Hadn't Olivia told him to come back for her? He'd been reasonable about it and he apologized, because if not for him she wouldn't have gone to the other side. But other than that, it wasn't his fault, and it was of Olivia's own free will that she chose to retrieve him. She could've left him, or someone else could have gone, but she had gone because she loved him. I think, though, that I can understand the way it feels when you feel disappointed and betrayed. It's irrational, really, but love usually is._

_ I guess I'm sort of ranting, am I not? Oh well. I'm sorry for this, but this has been inside of me far too long. Humanizing Alt-Olivia was easy. I suppose because she went in on assignment and came back that way. She was human; they all are and all were. More than that, though, I've done things I am far from proud of. Sloane was one of these things that began as something fun, something to help me succeed, and now I'm lost and confused. I guess I deserve it, but it still hurts. It's funny how someone can just abandon you, leave you stranded for over a year and then come back like nothing's changed at all. Everything changes, though. I only meant to have fun. I only meant to get over Brandon. But instead I fell in love, and now I'm writing angsty fanfiction on the internet._

_ I suppose I'll shut up now. But just know that thank you for reading this. I normally don't write an author's note at the end, but after writing this, and after the review signed Lucy, anonymous of course, I decided that I needed to explain my motives in writing and posting this story. I hope like hell you can understand me._


End file.
